


could have gone worse

by plapcat



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plapcat/pseuds/plapcat
Summary: When Yuri’s parents are brought up for the first time, Otabek hardly notices.Five times Yuri's parents are brought up around Otabek, and one time he meets them for himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has a lot of headcanons I've put some thought into, but chose not to go into detail here. I also don't generally write in the present tense, so that was... interesting. Please excuse any weirdness with tense. I tried to correct it whenever I could!

When Yuri’s parents are brought up for the first time, Otabek hardly notices.

Directly following the Grand Prix Finals, the skaters are all gathered in one room to speak with reporters. This is the first encounter the media will have with the skaters, giving them an opportunity to ask them any questions that come to mind. Every single skater who competed in the GPF is present, from all four groups, and they are absolutely swarmed by reporters. Later in the evening, there will be a more general press conference, where the medalists will be seated at a table and the questions will be brought up one at a time, but that’s later. This is a mob scene.

Otabek gets a few questions here and there, but no one really cares about the person who placed fourth. The bulk of the reporters flock to Katsuki Yuuri, the man who defied odds and went from a sixth-place nobody to almost topping the podium, and Yuri Plisetsky, the young man who took that victory away from him. After Otabek finishes his questions, he lingers, casually eavesdropping on the other skaters. He doesn’t have any responsibilities until the banquet, and he would much rather kill time here than alone in his room, where he’ll have to face the disappointment of his family.

So when a reporter flings the unexpected question at Yuri, he doesn’t even notice.

It’s a common question, one that most skaters get routinely. Most skaters. Yuri isn’t one of them.

The reporter is young. This is probably her first time at one of these, and she probably didn’t do much research before coming. So when she asks Yuri if his parents would be proud, she _probably_ doesn’t think much of it.

Yuri’s entire demeanor shifts, and that’s what grabs Otabek’s attention. The reporter quickly gets pushed to the back of the crowd, and others jostle to take her place, but Yuri’s heart has left the building. Yakov—strong, immovable Yakov—steps forward, placing a hand on his protégée’s shoulder. That grounds Yuri, long enough that he is able to look straight ahead and announce that he must prepare for the conference later.

Yakov leads his student away, but Otabek manages to catch Yuri’s gaze on the way. They just look at each other for a moment, before Otabek flashes his new friend a thumbs up. It looks like Yuri might return it, but then the previous expression returns to his eyes, and he’s pushed along.

For the rest of the evening, Otabek is stuck on how haunted Yuri looked. Like he had a demon he couldn’t shake off his back.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuri’s parents are brought up for the second time, Otabek’s mother is to blame.

They’d gone their separate ways following the GPF, each going back to their home country. But they’d kept up their promise to stay in touch. At the start, that had just been the occasional text message here and there. Otabek started to use his mostly-abandoned SNS, posting the occasional shot of Kazakhstan and liking Yuri’s photos when he got the chance. The frequency of messages increased; eventually, Yuri demanded that Otabek fire up his _actually_ abandoned Skype, with the excuse that they could multitask while talking. Texting took too much focus.

The internet in Otabek’s house is shaky at best, and is definitely strongest in the dining room, so whenever Yuri’s name pops up on the screen, demanding a video call, Otabek shifts everything out where the connection is strongest. It’s not like their conversations really need to be private, since all they do is chitchat while stretching, so neither of them really minds.

It’s no surprise to him that his family takes an interest in who he’s talking to. Otabek was never one too interested in making friends friends, so when he settles down at the old oak table and answers the call, he immediately has to go through the parade of his family members, introducing each and every one to the blond on the screen. His youngest siblings are the first to demand attention, and they quickly lose interest, bouncing off to do whatever it is children under ten find interesting. Once the flow of brothers and sisters stems, and Otabek is explaining how his eldest sisters—twins, much to his parents’ exasperation—had moved out three years prior, his own mother enters the picture.

Gulya Altin has always been a force to be reckoned with, and when she walks into the dining room and sees her eldest son laughing at something she cannot see, he has no choice but to introduce her to Yuri. Her grasp of Russian isn’t as strong as the younger generation’s, so Otabek performs the introduction in Kazakh, shooting Yuri an apologetic glance that he hopes the younger man picks up.

“A boy, hm?” Gulya muses, leaning forward as if she could get a better angle. “Tch! He is so skinny.” She switches to Russian, her words halting as she struggles to translate on the go. “You! Does your mother not feed you?”

Otabek watches as Yuri freezes, and is immediately brought back to the interview room. Yuri has the same look in his eyes. Carefully, he redirects the conversation away from parents, bringing up how Yuri won gold—he sees his mother’s eyes light up at that, and knows that she approves of their friendship—until she realizes that she’s needed elsewhere and disappears.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, not looking at the screen. Even though Yuri isn’t there to make direct eye contact, it feels too intimate.

“It’s okay.” But Yuri’s shoulders never relax, and when they say goodnight and end the call, Otabek has a terrible feeling in his stomach that stays with him for the rest of the week.

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuri’s parents are brought up for the third time, Otabek is an unwilling spectator in an argument.

Their relationship stays more or less the same as the months drag by, both working themselves to the bone on the ice. When they come home at night, they are usually too tired to speak, and if they call, most of the time, they share an amicable silence.

It’s not unheard of for them to talk to other people during these calls, either. On more than one occasion, Otabek would answer his phone regarding sponsorships while Yuri sat on the other end, a mixture of pride and jealousy on his face. He was still too young—no, too _youthful—_ to accept the kinds of deals that came to Otabek, but each time, after hanging up, Otabek would assure his friend that they would come soon. So when Yuri’s phone rings one rainy summer night, he picks it up without a thought.

“Grandpa!” he says, and Otabek can see him light up at the sound of the older man’s voice. His knowledge of Nikolai Plisetsky is vast, from all the times Yuri has gushed about the man who raised him. This time, however, the excitement quickly fades as the conversation goes on.

“What?” He can see the color draining from his friend’s cheeks, and once more, that empty look comes to his eyes. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t—I don’t fucking care!”

Immediately, he seems to regret swearing, but it’s too late to take it back. Instead, he curtly says goodnight to his grandfather and hangs up.

For several minutes, they sit there in uncomfortable silence, Yuri in his tiny, lonely bedroom in Lilia’s house, and Otabek thousands of kilometers away, unable to do anything to comfort his friend. Eventually, it becomes too much to bear, and Otabek speaks up.

“What was that?”

Yuri sighs, lowering his head into his hands and rubbing at his face tiredly. He looks so much _older_ than sixteen, Otabek thinks, even though he still has that youthful glow. It’s all about his eyes.

Children aren’t born with eyes of a soldier. They learn to harden themselves to the world. Not for the first time, Otabek wonders what series of events made Yuri bitter.

“My mother wants to come to the Cup of China.”

Otabek’s eyebrows lift, and he forces himself to be silent. His questions are numerous, but the last thing he wants is to be the cause of that haunted look.

“Grandpa thinks it would be a good idea.”

Carefully, Otabek puts his thoughts in order, prioritizing helping Yuri over satisfying his own curiosity. In time, he’d get the answers he seeks, but for now, they weren’t important.

“What do you want?”

“I want to never see that bitch again.” Yuri spits out the word, as if he could call her worse but holds himself back. Otabek just nods, understanding.

“I’ll be in China with you,” he says quietly, as if his presence could solve all of Yuri’s problems. It couldn’t, but hopefully it would help a little.

Yuri shudders, and lowers his head to the desk. “Is that really the next time I’ll get to see you?” There’s a whine in his throat, one that makes Otabek want to reach out and pat his head.

“Unless you come to America when I’m there, or I go to France—”

“Come up and visit me.”

Otabek stutters to a halt, frowning. Did he hear him right?

“Yuri, the season is gearing up—”

“I know. But I’m visiting Grandpa in a few weeks. You should come, too.”

It seems that his rocky phone call with the man didn’t affect his desire to see him. Otabek took in a deep breath, held it for a count of seven, then released it to the same. Financially, he could do it. It was just a matter of not letting his skating suffer.

“Fine. I guess I will.”

He’d thought only Nikolai could make Yuri light up like that. Clearly, he thought wrong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuri’s parents are brought up for the fourth time, it is entirely Otabek’s fault.

All things considered, his meeting with Nikolai had gone fantastically. They’d already been introduced over Skype, so it was just a matter of a firm handshake—Otabek was a _pro_ at those—and the box of home-baked goodies his mother had sent with him to win over the old man. As it turned out, Nikolai enjoyed baking, and requested a number of the recipes to try them out on his own.

As soon as Otabek placed his bag in Yuri’s room, the blond takes him on a whirlwind tour of the Plisetsky household, talking a mile a minute. It’s only when they return to the living room to sit down, fully exhausted from traveling, that Otabek spots them.

Upon the mantle, carefully set out to maximize the space and still ensure that they are all visible, is a row of framed photos.

“What’re those?” he asks, heaving himself off the couch. Yuri watches him go with apprehensive eyes, not that Otabek could see.

He recognizes most of the people in the photos. A young Yuri, his right leg lifted behind him to perform a perfect arabesque, set in the studio of that training camp Otabek had attended as well. Yuri and Nikolai, in a photo that Yuri clearly took as a selfie, his fingers flashing the peace sign while his grandfather looks confused. Yuri with his coaches, his face screwed up in a scowl as he undoubtedly argues with them over something small, placed strategically next to one of the three of them smiling. There’s a shot of the podium at the last Grand Prix Finals, Yuri holding his gold medal triumphantly.

Privately, Otabek wishes now more than ever that he’d placed on the podium. Then he would have earned a place above Nikolai’s fireplace.

The photo placed at the end, almost tucked behind the podium shot, is of a man and woman Otabek doesn’t recognize, although something about them strikes a chord of familiarity. They’re both beautiful, to be sure, smiling at each other with smiles bright enough to rival the sun. They both have a hand resting on the woman’s stomach.

As Yuri speaks, Otabek realizes what he’s looking at.

“My parents.” His voice is quiet, like he’s afraid to speak of them. Otabek studies the picture in silence. He has his father’s hair, although his is cropped close to his head, and his mother’s eyes. Otabek could have stared more, piecing together each individual detail, but he turns away to give Yuri the respect he deserves.

“Why don’t you show me your home rink?” he asks instead, glad to see Yuri’s eyes light up once more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Yuri’s parents are brought up for the fifth time, Otabek has to hold the blond back.

They had spent a week together. A glorious, uninterrupted week, full of nothing but skating and talking. It was good to see his friend again in person, to solidify that part of their relationship once more. The final night they spend together, Otabek agrees to go out into Moscow with Yuri. Even though they can’t legally go to bars together, Otabek can buy them something to share, so he goes into a store while Yuri waits outside.

Yuri claims it’ll be a night Otabek will never forget. Otabek just hopes he’ll remember it in the morning.

As they make their way back from the liquor store, each one holding a nondescript paper bag, they pass by a group of men in their early twenties.

Otabek knows something is wrong when he hears one of them whistle.

“Hey, little lady, does your man share?” a second calls. Otabek turned his head, eyes already narrowed into a glare. Apparently, catcalling scum is universal.

“Ignore them,” Yuri says quietly, in a tone that tells Otabek that this has happened before. It makes sense; at first glance, Yuri could very easily be mistaken for a girl. But the assumption that they were dating was absolutely mind-boggling to Otabek, who was always so, so careful to leave space between them, mindful of the public image they both try to cultivate.

Seeing that his previous comment got no reaction, the man switches to a new tactic. “Does your daddy know you’re out this late?”

Yuri whips around, golden hair flying about his face and sea-green eyes full of fury. “Fuck _off,”_ he yells (notably, in his deepest voice), almost launching himself at the men. Otabek, seeing his intentions, surges forward and wraps his free arm around Yuri’s stomach.

It was unneeded. The men, now knowing that their prey was in fact not a helpless young woman, turn as a unit and continue on their hunt.

Otabek presses his face into Yuri’s neck, hoping that just being there will be enough to calm the younger man down. “What was it you said?” he asks quietly, tightening his grip. Despite all the growing Yuri had done recently, he could still so easily hold him close. “Ignore them.”

“They had no right,” Yuri spits out. His voice is heavy with emotions. Otabek doesn’t have time to piece together which ones.

“I know.” He relaxes slightly, and when Yuri doesn’t start forward to chase those men down, releases him fully. Yuri just stands there, tense and unmoving.

So Otabek gives him a little nudge, forcing a smile that doesn’t feel genuine. “Come on. Let’s not let some assholes ruin our night, mm?”

After a moment, Yuri turns to face Otabek, his expression morphing from one of hatred to—appreciation? happiness? resolve? and Otabek feels the tension bleed from his own shoulders.

“They aren’t going to spoil the last night I’ll see my best friend until November. Not if I can help it.”

And Otabek smiles.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Otabek meets Yuri’s mother, it goes surprisingly well.

Based on everything he’d heard and seen, he’d thought that Yuri’s mother would have horns or purple skin. But when Yuri takes him by the elbow, pulling him away from his coach and leading him to the barrier that separates the participants from the public, he sees a small, nervous-looking woman in her forties, wringing her hands as she waits for her son to return.

As soon as she spots Yuri, she seems to calm, and it strikes Otabek as such a _Yuri_ action that he doesn’t even need to be introduced. Still, Yuri does it anyway, naming her as Ekaterina Plisetskaya. In a softer tone, he clarifies that, yes, this is his mother.

Otabek is presented as Otabek Altin—best friend. That brings a slight smile to Otabek’s lips, and when Ekaterina extends her hand, gratitude in those sea-green eyes, he can’t help but take it.

“Thank you,” she says formally, as Yuri squawks about how embarrassing it all is, “for looking out for my son.” The _‘when I couldn’t’_ is implied, but Otabek hears it anyway, firmly shaking her hand.

“It has been a pleasure,” he responds easily, dropping her hand—and taking Yuri’s. That placates the blond, a deep blush rising in his cheeks. “And I’m sure it will be a pleasure for a long time to come.”

Yuri’s fingers twist around his, tightening their hold. As Otabek watches Yuri stumble through his next thought, he thinks that, yes, this could have gone _much_ worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if I made any glaring mistakes or anything.


End file.
